


Relative Peace

by Niamh_St_George



Category: Lord Peter Wimsey - Dorothy L. Sayers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-19
Updated: 2009-10-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:52:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1632545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niamh_St_George/pseuds/Niamh_St_George
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A study on peace and its transience. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relative Peace

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Rynne

 

 

Relative Peace

(Note: This story is set just after the events of the short story "Talboys.")

The grounds of Talboys stretched out far behind the farmhouse, a rolling blanket of green, streaked here and there with lavender, its earthy, dreamy scent carried by the warm summer breeze. Never having been given to the types of frills ordinarily associated with ostentatious blooms, Harriet felt a special affinity for the muted purple flower, the look of it in no way spectacular, its scent sharp, almost astringent at first, before mellowing and warming, as if soothing fingers were smoothing out the wrinkles in a frazzled mind. Even now, that earthy, not-sweet tang hung in the air, caressing her skin and carding through her hair as she sat in the welcome shade of a gnarled oak. It was a lovely day to be alive, a lovely day to be in England.

And just as her mind wandered very nearly too far off, Harriet jerked it back with an almost bodily twitch. Surely they were sheltered here, but too much else was going on in the world, too much of it transpiring too nearby for Harriet to feel as if she deserved such a measure of tranquility.

Peter's voice, thick and husky, a result of the nap from which he'd been woken: "A bit chilly for you, my own dearest one?"

Harriet smiled. "It's midsummer, Peter."

"And yet, I'm certain I felt you shiver."

Shaking her head, Harriet turned her eyes back to the misty purple clouds settled among the grass. "Merely having a moment wherein I find myself wondering if it is ever preferable not to think."

He chuckled and stretched like a cat in a patch of sunlight. "I'll ask you to remember that you're speaking to one who has been accused of doing both to excess, though never at the same time, I should hope."

She exhaled a soft breath of laughter. "You know what I mean."

"I suspect I do, missus. Is it better - nay, more preferable - to lose oneself in the practical and theoretical quagmires of intellectual consideration, or does one have a duty to oneself to shut off the ol' noggin from time to time? _Once again do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, Which on a wild secluded scene impress Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect The landscape with the quiet of the sky._ "

"In a way, yes; I very nearly feel guilty for having someplace far beyond the maddening crowds, where we can retreat. Somewhere that can afford me a moment when I forget everything else wrong in the world."

"Any peace we enjoy is precious because it is fleeting, domina. And you are wise enough to know that. Even here, even now, this crystalline moment could be shattered by any number of things," Peter nodded at a cluster of thickening clouds off in the distance, "a summer storm not the least among them." He took her hand in his, bringing her knuckles to his lips and kissing them gently before twining his fingers with her own. "Speaking of fleeting peace, where do you suppose Miss Quirk got off to?"

"After her less than auspicious introduction to Cuthbert?" Harriet smothered a chuckle. "I imagine she's probably still in town deciding how best to rear other people's children."

This time it was Peter's turn to laugh. "Surely our brood have shown her the error of her ways."

Harriet sent Peter a level look. "Darling, our brood are the reason she bolts her door at night." 

"And an excellent habit that is. I feel they are an excellent influence on her already."

"At any rate, I suspect she'll be back by tea." Harriet sighed softly, leaning against Peter, taking a moment to drink in his warmth, despite the lazy heat of the day. _I suppose he's right,_ she mused, turning her head to tuck it beneath his chin. _Nothing lasts._

"In that case, allow us to take full advantage of her absence; let lips do what hands do," he murmured, pulling away and tilting her face upward; suddenly the scent of lavender became charged, heady. She breathed in a little deeper, lodging this moment in her memory, blotting out everything else. His mouth was hot, pliant against hers, and Harriet felt herself swept under. Arms hooked about his neck, she pulled him closer with an insistence that bordered on greedy. He was hers and she his; theirs was partnership and devotion without ownership or righteous entitlement. They simply _were_. And this was enough as they pressed against each other, eyes closed, long graceful fingers sliding through dark, short curls. 

Harriet was beyond the point of chastising herself for the folly of her younger self; lamenting what she had tried so hard to send away was foolish and unproductive. She preferred now to dwell in the present, to bask in its glow and savor every maddening moment that came with this extraordinary man. His words about the fleeting nature of peace were true enough, and Harriet lived much of her adult life expecting any measure of tranquility to shatter into thousands upon thousands of splintering shards; for too long she lived in anticipation of calamity, feeling heat creep into her face when people fell silent as she entered a room. She had waited, as if on eggshells, for something to go wrong. It had taken time for her to realize that tranquility was neither a calm before a storm, nor was it an underhanded means by which the universe could catch one entirely unaware. It was simply a stretch of time (never long enough), periods during which one could breathe.

With great reluctance, they parted, and Harriet noted with some pleasure that her husband appeared flushed, though she imagined it was something they had in common at that moment.

"Perhaps we ought to take a walk," she suggested in an undertone.

"It would seem the safest and most prudent course of action," Peter replied, sotto voce.

There was no more discussion on the matter. Peter got to his feet before offering his hand to Harriet and pulling her gently to hers. The clouds in the distance had thinned, the momentary threat of a summer storm vanishing. 

"Mummy! Mummy! Father!" Bredon's voice was a sudden clarion call across the grounds as their son ran full-speed away from the house. He reached them, out of breath. "...'S Cuthbert."

"I was under the impression Bunter had returned Master Cuthbert to the furnace-room," Peter replied, giving his son a sidelong glance. 

"He's _back_ , sir."

"Through no interference of your own?" Here, the child shook his head adamantly. "Very well, then." Peter turned toward the house and began striding back to manage this unfortunate incident. "We only have to venture forth and remind the scallywag that he belongs in his proper quarters."

The three had nearly reached the house when Peter turned to his son. "I say, Bredon, why didn't you capture the rogue yourself?"

"I tried to, sir. But he slithered under _her_ door."

A beat of horrible silence followed. "Whose door, Bredon?" Peter asked, though he was already heading through the door, purpose in every movement.

At that moment, a sharp, shrill scream cut through the air.

"Miss Quirk's, sir. An' she bolted it again." 

 


End file.
